Love and Other Disasters
by bridgetlynn
Summary: Life is messy and never goes the way you planned. Love is worse. Trish has learned that the hard way. A brother who acts like he hates her. A man she loves who only seems to show interest when he wants something. A 'career' that has her changing her name regularly to avoid trouble. In an underground kingdom she's the Queen no one knows but always needs. A Phantom behind the screen
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **The Fast and the Furious franchise is owned by Universal Pictures, various producers including (but not limited to) Neal H. Moritz, Vin Diesel, Michael Fottrell and Clayton Townsend. It is the intellectual property of writers Gary Scott Thompson, Erik Bergquist, David Ayer, Michael Brandt, Derek Haas and Chris Morgan. Last, but not least, Ken Li, author of "Racer X" the story the first movie was based upon, also has a piece of the pie.  
I technically 'own' the very few characters you will not recognize from the series, including Trish, this story's protagonist. However, that does not mean I am making a single shiny penny off of this story. If anything, I am acquiring debt as writing it takes away time from doing things that could be making me money.

**Kind of important Story-note: **This is my first F&F fanfic. I feel like I should offer that up straight away. I haven't written anything for pleasure in almost two years because I just couldn't find a single piece of inspiration. It's sick and twisted and kind of disturbing (to me) that the recent tragic passing of Paul Walker (R.I.P. I am still in shock) apparently stirred up some writing bugs in me. But then again, find me a writer who claims to be totally 'normal' in the head and I'll show you a liar. We tend to live in our imaginations and look at the world just a little cock-eyed.  
Now, for this story I spent quite a few hours working out a _**realistic **_timeline of the series (down to possible/realistic ages of characters). The movie series would almost have us believe that the movies happened near consecutively. I have a major problem believing this so, well, in my little world they didn't (ex: there is no way in hell Jack O'Conner is a few days old when Dom shows up to tell Mia and Brian about Letty. He's holding his damned head up himself!). So in this story there is some space to breathe between films where other things happened. This story, god willing nothing happens on my end, is going to start before the film series begins and follow through it up until the end of Tokyo Drift (after that is open season as far as I'm concerned); but, at the same time, will **not **be a simple rehashing of the films. I've seen them, you've seen them, my character is (hopefully) not some Mary-Sue who is suddenly interjected into the cast. She's highly intelligent, a little weird and somewhat amoral about things like money and who it really belongs to and why she should take it off their hands. But she's not some brilliant racer/action superhero/genius mechanic. She has connections to the cast, but she's not just suddenly there in the films. That's not how I write. I write in the universe...I don't rehash everything you already know. I hope you can be patient and stick with it and I very much hope you enjoy it.

**Relationships/Pairings:** Canon: all pairings will be acknowledged and addressed as they pertain to the film series. Non-canon: Brian/OC familial, Han/OC (eventual) romantic.

* * *

_January 2012_

I've learned a lot in my life and I've heard a lot of unsolicited cliched statements from a lot of pretty cliched people during that life about how I should live.

_Life is but a roll of the dice. _My mother. _I live my life a quarter mile a time. _Dominic Toretto. _You make choices and you don't look back._ My friend, lover, husband of convenience depending on the day of the week. _Good intentions are nothing without hard work. _Luke Hobbs,my current personal jailer, I mean, employer.

Mrs. Gump probably said it best though when she compared life to a box of chocolates; you really do never know what you're going to get.

Because the simple truth of the matter is that life is complicated. There's no fate or grand design to life. There's just you and everyone around you. Life is all at once messy, confusing, heartbreaking, frustrating and never really goes the way you initially planned.

Hell, if a plan never survives first contact with the enemy then life is the biggest, most evil, son of a bitch you could ever throw down with. I figured that out by the time I was eleven and decided from that point on that my life would be lived in a series of short-term goals. As long as I worked my way from one goal to the next I'd probably be fine.

Probably.

For example, if you told me ten years ago that at the age of thirty-two I would be in another country legally stalking both my ex-husband and an apparent sociopath, with the full backing and power of the D.S.S., I'd probably have laughed in your face. That was seriously, seriously, never in the plans.

For more then a few reasons.

Marriage, theoretically, should be something sacred and I'm living proof that it isn't. Why would I want to legally tie myself to someone so I could stand by and wait for them to fuck me over? If I love someone and they love me? Awesome. I never wanted paperwork telling me this. I honestly think the news that I would be working for the Diplomatic Security Service, in some capacity, might have come as a lesser shock.

If the FBI hires hackers and basically pays them to stop them from doing illegal shit; then why couldn't the D.S.S.?

Now, despite my twenty-two year old self's shock and horror at the situation, I'm still sitting in the middle Tokyo in an ostentatious Nissan 370z that I've been informed will blend in nicely wherever my ex goes. Speaking of which, I can almost see my ex's expression if he heard my disdain for the vehicle; his unflappable cool would probably even be visibly shaken. For about a second. It'd almost be worth seeing if I ever had a chance to voice the thoughts out loud.

Don't get me wrong, I can drive like a bat out of hell when I absolutely need to; I'm not going to hit ninety and suddenly freak out and blow myself up or anything. Hell, at one point in my life, I could even race with the best of them. But, fact is, I'm not seventeen and trying to figure out where I fit in and who I am anymore. I've accepted that I'm a geek and my place in life is behind a computer while someone else handles the action.

I'm happier for it too.

In fact, pretty much everyone I know agrees with me on this very fact.

So why Luke Hobbs, my current boss (by default being that the choice was work with D.S.S. or a fairly lengthy jail sentence), thought it would be a good idea to send me personally to Tokyo with a small team to keep an eye on Han is beyond me. I considered asking if the man actually wanted my ex-husband dead; but I wasn't entirely certain what his answer would be. And if he said yes, I might have had to try and shoot him on principal alone, which would have defeated the purpose of working for him and turning down the jail sentence in the first place.

Which leaves me sitting here, right in the middle of the busy the Shibuya District, waiting for one of two cars that the agents I'm traveling with have managed to plant trackers on to move while studying the images from those same two cars dashboard camera's that I've hacked.

Not that those images have changed in the last three hours either. One showed an empty vehicle and one showed an unmoving male who seemed to be completely focused on staring out the windshield. He had _almost_ stopped scaring me out after the first hour. Now it was just weird and annoying.

Things I've learned since Hobbs broke into my house almost two years ago, stake outs are boring and will cause you to chain smoke due to lack of anything else to do.

Fuck this; radios and back-up exist for a reason.

"Hey Carson?" I asked, the annoyance at the situation bleeding through into my voice.

"What is it O'Conner?"

"Is there a reason we can't just go pick up Shaw? The asshole is still just sitting in his car behind the hotel."

"He hasn't done anything yet O'Conner."

"He's creepy and Hobbs is certain he's a sociopath even worse then his brother; that should be enough. Also, your use of the word yet does not comfort me in the slightest."

"Just shut your mouth, do your job, watch the feed and send us the coordinates if they move O'Conner. Your little boyfriend will be fine."

"Yea, whatever. O'Conner out," I muttered back darkly. "Not my boyfriend," I added almost silently.

I should remember to thank Hobbs for sending such scintillating personalities with me to Japan; not to mention, apparently, using my ex-husband as bait. Ruining his credit rating could be a nice thank you gift since I can't shoot him. Asshole still hasn't given me back my gun; he claims it's an illegal weapon and he doesn't trust me not to finally just shoot him in the back one day.

I told him I was incredibly offended by the implication that I'd shoot a man in the back and if I was going to shoot him I promise he'd see it coming. He got even less enthusiastic about returning my weapon after that. It's not like I wasn't any good at my current indentured servitude.

Ian Shaw wouldn't even be on our radar if it wasn't for the fact that I might still be a little, just a little mind you, in love with the stupid ass I was currently, legally, stalking.

I maintain that it's completely normal for someone of my skill level to have written a program that tells them if anyone is looking into certain people. It's a very short list of people that Han just happens to be included on. Hell, I even have my asshole half-brother flagged too and I can barely be in the same room as him without wanting to mess up his far too smug face. I blame my nephew for that; the kid shouldn't be at risk of growing up without a Dad like Brian and I did. Even if his dad is Brian O'Conner.

So yea, it's Jack's fault I try not to let anything happen to my sibling...even if he was born years after I added Brian. Even if Brian was the first, and only, person I had in the program for a while.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Again, for Jack's sake, I even added Brian's whole motley crew of fellow criminals to my 'saftey-net' program after Hobbs dragged them in to help us with the Owen Shaw case. I'd probably never be in the kids life as his Aunt Trish and quickly realized that those people would be his family. Then I found that I even somewhat liked _most_ of them; once I realized that they could actually do their jobs between rounds of bickering. I've kept my thoughts about Giselle to myself since the end of that job as I was raised to believe that it's rude to speak ill of the dead; and when I'm feeling particularly logical I can admit my issues with her are just that. My own issues.

Plus, I can't really bring myself hate the woman anymore being that she died to save the life of the man we were both stupid over. It'd be easier for me if I could.

My musings were interrupted, thankfully, as I maudlin self-pity had never really been my style by the voice of the current bane of my existence and field leader, Matt Carson, "Hey O'Conner?"

"What?!"

"Are they moving yet?"

"Believe me, if anyone were moving you'd be the first to know. Are you sure we can't just go pick up Shaw? He's got to at least be illegally parked."

"No."

Fine then. If Han gets hurt because Hobbs wants to catch Shaw on something he can actually hold him on, rather then just interrupting his plans, I am definitely shooting the man. Possibly twice. Maybe even in his stupidly large head.

That thought was immediately cancelled out and replaced in my brain by total confusion as I realized one of my trackers had gone from a dead stop to moving _all _over the place in mere seconds. Han wasn't a reckless driver. Ever. Fast yes; reckless no.

"Hey Carson?"

"No we can't go pick up Shaw."

"No, umm, Han's car is moving. Fast. And beyond erratically. What the hell is going on near the garage?"

"We didn't see shit. Are you sure?"

"Yea; I'd say so," I replied watching the tiny dot begin moving in and out of, what I assumed to be, traffic. I hit a few keys and activated his dashboard camera, taking in the expression of stress on his face and frowned. "Carson? Maybe you should get on the damn road," I added through the radio, knowing he too could see the GPS signal at this point. "Something's going on. And Shaw's starting his car too."

The police scanner I had in my car started picking up chatter about street racers but Han's expression told me this was much more then that. This wasn't driving for money. This wasn't driving for respect. This was driving for your life.

And they were headed right in my direction.

Without making a conscious decision I had the engine turned over and my own GPS tapped in to track the path of Han's RX-7 and relate a path I could take and possibly intercept from where I was.

This was definitely not a situation to test and see if I could still drive like I could at seventeen. I'm pretty sure Hobbs would stick a murder charge on me if I hit anyone. I couldn't really bring myself to care as I floored the gas pedal.

As I weaved in and out of traffic I made myself ignore the radio and just breathed with the engine and shifted on instinct while keeping half an eye on the two GPS trackers. Han was still flying through the streets and Shaw was creeping along back alleys, stopping every few seconds and obviously waiting on something.

What the hell was he waiting on?

I remembered once when I was sixteen and a friend said precision driving is like making love to your car. At the time I joked back that if you let yourself go out of your head that much while you're driving you're definitely going to be fucked; probably as you hit an unmovable object. I don't think I understood him until this very moment. I hadn't needed to understand him.

And then I swerved around a corner, barely missing a group about to cross the intersection, when I saw them. A black Nissan Fairlady. The red Evo that belonged to Han's new puppy. And the orange RX-7 that I knew for certain contained my ex. The person me and my team had been watching the back of for the last three months.

Not that he knew it.

I jerked around an incoming car and continued following the three cars, further back then I probably should have been, when the gunshots started. I refused to let the sound of them or the barely noticeable fear on Han's face in the dashboard camera shake me.

"Who the fuck did you piss off you idiot?!," I screamed at the image of his face and took a second to glance at Shaw's GPS signal and image.

He was waiting near the intersection Han's car was headed towards. The same intersection the police scanner had just announced the cars were heading towards. He had an expression that crossed somewhere between glee and anticipation on his face.

And in that moment I knew.

"Carson where the fuck are you?!" I screamed into the two-way.

"We're a block away O'Conner. Do not lose them."

"That won't be a problem," I muttered throwing away the radio and taking a chance after glancing at the map again. I dodged down an alley and behind the same hotel Shaw had been waiting by for hours.

As I sped through the alley everything felt like it slowed down and sped up at the same time.

There was no way I was going to be in time to stop Shaw.

I had more then enough time to get things done.

I ripped my e-brake and actually managed to drift around the last corner, slamming the brakes on before I got close enough to catch Shaw's attention.

Once again, I was more then a little pissed off that Hobbs had taken my gun. Just outright shooting Shaw would be so much easier then anything else right about now. That action I would happily go to jail for. Since, he apparently, hadn't done anything...yet. Hitting his car with mine would have been another lovely option but hitting the hundred or so people standing between our cars, staring at the 'race', while I was at it would probably be frowned upon.

I had fourteen years of friendship with on and off sex where I was regularly discarded by the one person in the world I would probably ever love completely; and I was okay with that. I was perfectly fine with that so long as he was still breathing.

And in that instant I could almost see what was about to happen like it was a premonition. I jumped out of the car, ripping off my long trench coat as I moved forward shoving forcefully through the panicked crowd; for once grateful for my near 5'11" in height.

In seconds Shaw's Mercedes moved forward into the intersection and to me it was as if it was in slow motion. I knew I couldn't stop it completely; there was just not enough time. But I could do something; even if it wound up being dying with him.

I saw the cars collide and Han's car flipped into the air and for a moment I was confused because I still felt like everything was creeping along underwater. Shaw couldn't have been going fast enough to do that. It didn't seem possible.

Then everyone around me screamed, seemingly at once, and life returned to it's normal pace. The sound of metal screeching along pavement was all I could hear as I watched Han's car skid across the street, somehow by a miracle coming closer to me. I knew I had about three minutes, most probably less, to act knowing the amount of NOS Han probably had put into his systems. I was near praying that he had used his NOS on the road and that the tanks were empty. I doubted I was that lucky.

I wanted to run to him. I could hear the ticking clock in my head counting down each second I needed to get him out. But I couldn't move; not yet.

It was as if I was frozen, eyes darting between the crumpled upside down car with it's struggling occupant and the sociopath walking past it casually talking on the phone.

Total sociopath. Didn't the fucker feel an ounce of guilt?

In the back of my mind I made a note about the call to track it at a later date. If I was still alive that is.

The second Shaw's back was to me I felt like I could move again and with every ounce of strength in my body I ran the final few feet towards the vehicle that was just beginning to really burn.

I finally understood a true adrenaline response. I knew how fathers's could lift cars off their children. I knew how mother's instinctively knew where their children were and if they were in trouble. More importantly, I knew what it meant to have your life flash before your eyes. Because, I might not be his; but, Han Lue had been my life since he offered me his hoodie on a chilly night in November of 1998 in downtown Los Angeles for no other reason then I apparently looked cold.

That night was all I could think about as I dropped to my knees next to the broken Mazda and reached in, ignoring the smell of gasoline and growing heat. My eyes met Han's and for once he looked completely vulnerable to me. There was first pain, followed by confusion and then sheer terror as I ripped at the harness holding him into the seat. I remember various times in my life wishing to see this man's stoic countenance shaken and I immediately took it all back. I never want to see this again.

"Trish, get out of here before it blows," he mumbled to me, not seeming to even question my presence.

I ignored him and continued counting seconds down in my head, listening to the sound of gasoline hitting the pavement from the punctured tank.

"Trish! Please go," he choked out, eyes wide and staring at me in a panic which didn't do anything to calm my own nerves. Han Lue does not panic. Ever. It should be a universal rule. "You can't die too."

"And I will not just stand here and let you die you asshole. So, shut up," I snapped, refusing to let my internal hysteria out in my voice. I could just barely make out the sound of a voice screaming Han's name and vaguely wondered why the hell whoever was yelling wasn't over here helping me.

Not to mention where my supposed team was.

Just then the harness snapped and I immediately grabbed Han under his shoulders and pulled hard ignoring the idea of a neck or back injury, and his pained scream, in my desperate need to get him out of the car. I fell backwards onto the pavement from the weight of his body just as I heard the sound, and felt the heat, of the explosion.

The last thought I had before the pain hit and everything went completely black was that I was glad I was with him in the end 'cause I couldn't have survived losing him.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, here we have the prologue. First off, please don't kill me for leaving things very ambiguous. This is the prologue remember. Chapter One will be flashing back _quite_ a few years to really get the story background established. I figure if the filmmakers can screw with us by making us love Han when we know the dude's dead in the long run then I can start my story smack dab in the middle of the action and whet your pallets a little. Speaking of the filmmakers; does anyone else feel a little bit bad for them. They shot all of Tokyo Drift and killed Han...and then had focus groups tell them that he was their favorite character in the movie and everyone was a little 'meh' on Sean (the supposed 'star' of the film - who I always thought came across as a cheap Brian rip off). You _know_ that had to be when they decided to make Tokyo Drift a prequel so they could use Han again. Talk about killing the goose that laid the golden egg.

Oh also, I don't hate Brian's character even a little bit. I actually adore Brian's character. Paul Walker is legit one of my favorite actors - outside of this series even more so. Trish just has, umm, issues? They'll be explained. Everything in life is a matter of perception. One man's trash is another man's treasure and all that.

I haven't decided if the rest of the story will be written in first person POV or not. I usually write in third-person-limited; switching POVs between two or three characters when necessary. In this case I'm fairly certain, even if I stick to third-limited it will only be Trish's POV either way (possibly with some Han throw in at times). The prologue was approached almost as if it was a voice-over that you would see in a movie or tv-show being that the source material for this is a film.

Before anyone jumps on me about the accident/explosion and how it was portrayed here vs. the movie - I asked my two uncles a few questions. One is a firefighter and one is a mechanic/(very) amateur race car driver. They both gave me a more realistic time-frame for the car to be able to burn before it would explode. Realistically the gasoline - being that we saw the fuel tank had been punctured and therefore it wasn't all contained in one tight space - could straight burn for at least two or three minutes before it would fully blow. The mechanic uncle said the 'problem' would be the NOS tanks but depending on where the initial fire was located, and how much NOS was actually in the tanks, the clock on the actual car going up would be extended or shortened. Trish was taking a calculated risk either way; but if someone you loved was in a lethal car crash and you had even thirty seconds to possibly get them you - wouldn't you try?

And I'm done. Subsequent authors notes will not be novel length...Pinky-Promise.  
Reviews and _constructive_ criticism are like my own personal batch of cupcakes and are appreciated as such. Flames will be reacted to accordingly.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing and am making no money off the Fast & Furious franchise. It is owned by Universal Pictures and various other parties. See prologue for full disclaimer.

**Note:** This chapter was _**entirely**_ re-worked and re-posted as of 12/26/13 around 9:50pm EST. So if you'd already read it before then I highly suggest reading it again. There is a lot more information in the new chapter. I posted the original version while stressed over Christmas preparations and my grandmother being in the hospital. After a day or two I realized that something about it just wasn't sitting right with me - style, content, etc. So I ripped it apart and re-did it. I feel much better about it now.

* * *

_November 1998_

The move to Los Angeles from Barstow in July had been both last minute and necessary. The burning need to get out of the city of her birth that had been growing constantly her entire life had finally exploded the same moment her best friend's car did after he hit a wall going 120 miles per hour because some novice had lost control of his own car first. That combined with the death of her mother a month earlier, also in a car accident, was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

It had also taken away any desire she once had to ever race her car again in any capacity. Putting her perfectly tuned, though stock, Mustang up against idiot teenagers in their first cars in order to learn the 'craft' had been all in good fun; but seeing her best friend, her true big brother as far as she was concerned, who had ten years of experience on her burn to death had been enough to put her off the sport as a whole.

Jose's crew thought she had sold her mother's house and bar and gone off to Boston due to her acceptance at MIT earlier in the year. They had no idea that the money from the sale of the house and bar had gone to Jose's wife and two kids to pay off his house's mortgage. Lucy hadn't wanted to accept the money but Trish had insisted, telling her, "I might have been ten years younger then him but Jose took me under his wing when I was fifteen and taught me how to do something with my brain other then nearly blow up my mother's circuit breaker every other month because I was bored. It's the least I can do."

When Lucy had pointed out that she would need the money in Boston Trish made some noise about a full scholarship and how she'd be fine. It wasn't a total lie if one considered the scholarship her savings account full of money from playing cards and cuts from the jobs Jose had needed her help with. It wouldn't be enough for a private university like MIT; but, it would at least help her out to get started somewhere away from Barstow.

Away from Barstow had been her only goal from the time she was eleven. She was going to manage at least that much.

She also never wanted Lucy to realize that Jose made a lot more money from selling off stolen cars and their parts then he did fixing cars; so, she encouraged her to sell the garage, pointing out that with the house paid off her income as a nurse would be enough to support her and the kids. Jose had protected Trish when she needed him to and now she would protect his family from the heat that was sure to come down on them if the garage was still around for the rest of the idiots he employed, his 'crew', to continue his side business.

She would have felt bad if not for the fact that she knew Jose was the only one who trusted her and that with him gone the others wouldn't accept her help. Her job had been to organize the inventory and override the cars computer systems, especially the GPS, when they arrived at an empty lot outside of town. Their jobs were to steal the cars. She didn't know who exactly got the parts; though she was almost certain Eric, Jose's 'second-in-command' did. Without her help with the computers all she could foresee was a cluster-fuck of epic proportions and that went against every single thing that Trish O'Conner stood for.

Knowledge was power and control. She didn't give up control of her life to anyone. Without control over your own circumstances and your own life you were just asking for trouble. And Trish wasn't about wait around to be implicated in previous jobs if Eric was able to continue Jose's 'project' when they wound up getting caught. That was a jail sentence waiting to happen; especially since she had turned eighteen in January. The cops weren't going to care that she hadn't actually stolen any cars herself and considering how the Barstow police felt about the name O'Conner she knew they'd love to drag her in on something.

All that considered Trish had packed up her white 1964 Mustang and headed for LA. It was the closest major city, that had a university she had been accepted at, and checked into a cheap hotel. Two weeks later she had a job at a coffee shop, had signed the lease on a studio apartment and registered for two summer classes at UCLA that would start in mid-July, declaring her major as computer science rather then engineering.

The next few months passed quickly with a full-time job combined with a full class load in the fall. Unfortunately, Trish hadn't factored into her plan what a severe hit her income was going to take from her 'change' in lifestyle. Which was why, despite her current aversion to everything racing, she was leaning on her car on the far edge of a large crowd behind a warehouse in Downtown Los Angeles.

The sights, sounds and smells were nearly identical to what she was used to in Barstow. Bright cars, skimpy clothes, loud music and engines with an undertone of motor oil and various types of smoke.

At the same time it was a whole other world then she was used to and she had no idea how to proceed. She had gotten far too used to being known by name at a race. Even on the edges of Jose's crew she had been considered 'elite'. She had been someone to talk to to get 'in'. Here, she was no one. She was just a young, innocent, strawberry blonde with big blue eyes dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and chucks. She probably looked about fifteen at first glance to the people in the crowd.

Even just a quick glance around from the outskirts she could tell that while there were plenty of idiot kids, who could probably barely drive their cars, none of them had been idiotic enough to show up with a factory tuned vehicle like she had seen at previous races back home. That meant racing was out. She might have gotten laughed at by most of the racers here if she put up her Mustang as is; but, she knew she could finally out drive anyone who hadn't put too many bells and whistles into their cars. It had taken her three years, but she had gotten there.

In the past if she would complain that her car was stock, Jose had always told her she didn't need anything extra _yet_; she just needed to drive her car like she was making love to it. She needed to learn to be a precision driver first, to know her car so well that it was an extension of herself and give control over to the car, and then they'd talk about tricking her car out. She tended to joke that if she let go of her control that much she'd surely get 'fucked' because she'd hit something, like a wall. Jose had merely laughed and told her that she was too 'in her own head all the time'; that she'd understand when she was older and had the skill to drive the way she needed to. He claimed if she didn't drive that way and he tricked her car out she would blow herself up the second she went up against a better racer.

She found that depressingly ironic being that he got blown up driving against a shitty driver. So much for his 'being one with the car' theory solving all your problems. So, despite what Jose had told her for years she couldn't help but believe that a major overhaul to her Mustang could have been very helpful right at that moment.

Apparently, the Los Angeles scene had one major difference to Barstow. Everyone knew cars here; even if they couldn't drive them, they knew to put enough NOS into the car to potentially blow themselves and half the block up. And that wasn't going to help her when all she had was her Mustang. All she had needed was one race, against one idiot kid, and she would have been in. Or at least in enough to start asking questions to get to her ultimate goal.

She needed a god damned _real _card game.

Trish had tried campus and within a month was considered persona non grata as college kids couldn't afford to lose the kind of money Trish played for. That hadn't really bothered her as the highest stakes she had found on campus, even in the greek houses, had been fifty-dollar antes. Being dis-invited to play poker because she had made three-hundred bucks in one night was frankly, to her, more annoying then anything else.

Asking bartenders in clubs had gotten her laughed at and told point blank that she looked like a sting operation in the works before they called a bouncer to remove the 'kid' who had 'snuck in'.

She could see their point and didn't really blame them; even if it was beyond frustrating. After all, she was a sting operation. It just happened to be her own. She hadn't lost a game of cards, unless she wanted to, since she was about fourteen all thanks to one of her mother's boyfriend's who had taught her how to count cards when she was twelve. The man was a math teacher and had taught her to count cards when he realized she could calculate pi to fifteen digits in her head. He thought he was helping out a burgeoning mathematician rather then teaching her how to use her IQ to cheat at cards.

It wasn't like it was her fault most people who like to gamble tended to be much stupider then she was. She quickly learned that the easiest marks were the ones that loved to gamble for the sake of gambling, and tended to drink more then was healthy, in the basement of her mother's bar. She made it her mission to help them lose the money they were so eager to drink away. Her mother never cared because the more money Trish won, the less her mother needed to spend on her.

It was, ironically, learning how to count cards that made her realize her own code in life. If fate, the ruler of the gambling world, actually existed then Trish wouldn't be able to win or lose when she wanted to. She had control over one of the, supposed, most unpredictable past-times in the world. So it had to be that simple; if you take control and responsibility of your own actions your life will go as smooth as possible. You can't let other people or outside influences dictate how you live. Jose asked her once if she felt at all bad cheating at cards and taking money from some of the guys who had families at home; she usually shrugged him off by, correctly, pointing out that they wouldn't be spending that money on their families anyway so why should she feel bad for their choices?

Regret about other peoples lives and the choices they made for themselves wasn't an emotion Trish O'Conner entertained. If she did, then when it came right down to it, she'd have to somewhat regret existing. She'd have to regret that her father was an asshole who cheated on his wife, leading to his divorce and eventual abandonment of his son. She'd have to admit that maybe Brian was a little right about what he had drilled into her head since she was eight and he was ten and they were both old enough to understand their circumstances. It was her fault. If her mother hadn't gotten knocked up. If there wasn't proof of the affair. But since she knew that was bullshit that was spurned on by his own mother's anger she refused to regret it.

The longer Trish stood there contemplating who she should introduce herself to, since she refused to act like a skank to get 'in', the more dismayed she became. Her only other option for money, other then finding a real card game, had been swallowing her pride and approaching her half-brother and that was something she really did not want to do.

She knew he was in Los Angeles; for all he seemed to hate her when they were growing up, he had actually written to her after her mother's death and given her his address and phone number. It had been a short note that barely said anything other then he was entering the police academy followed by brief, awkward, condolences that had _almost_ made her feel bad about not offering her own a year earlier when his own mother had passed from cancer. Almost, because his mother regularly referred to Trish as 'the little bitch who ruined my marriage' in public. Needless to say she got over that passing regret quite quickly.

She still found it ironic, months later, that one of Barstow's biggest trouble-makers was going to be a cop and would have loved to laugh in his face over it. However, she still wasn't entirely certain that the contact hadn't been made out of some misplaced feelings of obligation, guilt or just plain social propriety. Until that random letter she hadn't heard a word from him since his arrest when he was sixteen; despite sending him several letters in juvie.

He might have been mean and nasty to her growing up whenever she tried to talk to him as a child but she had still held out, hoping for some kind of relationship with her big brother. She held out right up until the point where he apparently decided to go the route of ignoring her and sending back her letters unopened. She was eighteen now and didn't need the boy who should have been there for her when they were growing up just because he had finally hit his twenties, realized they were both totally alone family-wise and had _possibly_ matured enough to realize what an asshole he had been.

She _needed_ him when she was a kid. She didn't feel like assuaging any of _his _guilt now.

She also didn't need to hear what he would have to say about Jose. Those two had never gotten along. Eight years between them and as far as Jose had been concerned, Brian O'Conner was a snot-nosed kid who had a lead foot. Hearing her biological brother berate her for spending time with the person who had done everything Brian should have done for her wouldn't be healthy for Brian. He'd never _physically_ hurt her, she trusted that much, but she wasn't above breaking his nose and pointing out that he was a hypocrite as she had been there when he was arrested for boosting, racing and subsequently wrecking stolen cars.

She knew what she had been doing was illegal. _She_ was okay with that. His guilt over his own past was just that; his.

Which left her in a bit of a pickle.

Trish was just about to suck it up and plow into the crowd when a heavy weight fell onto her shoulders causing her to jump and turn around in surprise. Standing behind her was a beautiful Asian man, maybe two to three years older then she was with hair that couldn't seem to decide if it was long or short hanging in his eyes, wearing dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt and work boots. He looked like a typical racer straight out of a 1950s movie, right down to the cigarette tucked behind his ear.

She almost asked him if Fonzi was his role model.

"You looked cold," his strikingly smooth voice startled Trish out of her observations and had her pulling the garment from her shoulders, half expecting it to be a leather jacket. Instead she found a large zippered hoodie and quirked an eyebrow in response. "You don't talk?" he continued, curiously tilting his head, almost as if he was observing something at the zoo.

"Hi?" she questioned, slightly confused as to where he had come from since she was still on the far edge of the crowd by her car. "I'm Trish O'Conner," she added, deciding to go with polite as she was, actually, getting chilly.

"Han," he responded and then nodded at her Mustang. "Nice car. 64?"

"Yes," she replied, not surprised he got the year right. If she was on the street most people asked if it was a 65 and then got very confused when she told them it was a 64. When they tried debating her, she usually clarified that it was technically a 64 and a half because it was the first model and had actually come out at the end of 1964 rather then the beginning of 1965. Only car junkies actually cared or noticed; everyone else just shrugged and nodded like she was insane. Truthfully, there weren't any differences between the two, but she liked that Jose had taken the time and effort to track down an actual first model to restore for her.

Han only silently nodded and proceeded to lean back against Trish's car, much to her surprise and a little annoyance, lighting the cigarette that had been removed from behind his ear. She finally just shrugged, slipped the hoodie on and leaned back next to him trying not to think about how delicious his cigarette smelled. She had been looking for a contact in the community and she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth; or annoy him if he apparently wanted quiet.

Ten minutes, and three cigarettes, which was only driving her craving further, later she changed her mind and spoke up, "You know, those will kill you."

He simply rolled his eyes and quietly replied through a mouthful of smoke, "So will a lot of things."

"Well yea, but you _know_ that cigarettes will kill you," she clarified and almost jumped again when he leaned down and smelled her hair.

"You smell like smoke," was all he commented on. "Ergo you smoke. Hypocrite."

"Not a hypocrite. I'm quitting. And that's why I know they'll kill you and me and a good chunk the population. Do you see me smoking right now?"

His response was to try to hand her his still lit cigarette and laugh when she scowled at him, "You don't want it?"

"No. I_ chose _to quit and I'm _going_ to."

"Hard?"

"Like a bitch," she mumbled; reminding herself that she controlled everything she did and she did not want to smoke. If she didn't want to smoke then she wouldn't smoke. "But I don't _want_ to smoke."

"It's an addiction. Just cause you don't want to smoke doesn't mean you aren't going to."

"Nope. I don't do anything I don't want to do. I control everything in my life; including the result of a stupid choice I made when I was fourteen. It's been three days," Trish informed him.

"Uh-huh," he replied looking at Trish like she was a little crazy. "Give it a week," he added, purposefully blowing the smoke in her face and smirked at the glare she threw at him, waving her hand in front of her face.

"Why are we even talking about this?" she asked, frowning at how off track they had gotten.

"You brought it up."

"Right, okay," Trish mumbled, feeling ridiculous because she had never had a problem having a conversation with anyone before. She might be quiet, but she wasn't exactly shy. "So, what do you drive? Going by your whole stoic James Dean, Rebel Without a Cause vibe, I'll go out on a limb and say a classic Spyder?" she added with a blatantly snarky edge to her voice.

She grinned triumphantly when he actually laughed out loud at her, quite obvious, mocking of him and responded with an almost reverent, "I wish."

"So?"

"Do you actually care what I drive?" he asked, looking her up and down pointedly. "You don't look the type."

"Why do you think that?"

"For one, you're fully clothed. Secondly, you've been hiding back here for like an hour without actually paying attention to any of the races."

"I'm not hiding," she responded, glaring again. When all he did was raise an eyebrow she rolled her eyes and added, "So, okay, fine, I don't actually care what you drive. I just thought it'd be a good conversation starter considering the locale."

"No conversation start really necessary," he replied, shrugging. "I'm not really a big talker."

"Yea, I can see that," she laughing lightly. "Though you don't seem to have a problem with it right now."

"I like trying new things."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Eh," he responded, shaking his hand in a so-so gesture and falling silent once more much to her irritation. If he didn't want to talk to her he could go lean on a different car and blow smoke at someone else. He wasn't _that_ good-looking.

She finally followed his line of sight, as it had gone back to where it was before she tried prodding him into a conversation that could possibly segue into asking if he knew where to play poker or at least who to ask.

She frowned and squinted to look past the three cars she thought he was studying and then rolled her eyes as she saw what was just past them, "Picking out tonight's conquest?"

"Who said I hadn't already?" he questioned back, turning to stare at her with a smirk.

"That's presumptuous," she mumbled, slightly flustered. He really was that good looking and she really was far too inexperienced due to spending most of her teen years with an over-protective married man who wouldn't let boys even breathe near her. "I just met you."

She blushed in embarrassment when he laughed, loudly, and commented, "I didn't mean _you_ kid."

"Hey! I'm eighteen!"

She frowned in confusion when he only rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the car telling her, "_Sure_ you are. Gotta go."

"Asshole," she mumbled under her breath, watching him walk away, as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of the hoodie she was wearing. "Shit. HEY!" she called. "Your jacket!"

When he only kept walking she frowned and stuffed her hands into the pockets of it; she wasn't about to chase him down as he was approaching some bottle blonde in a mini dress. Her fingers clenched around a single piece of paper in the otherwise empty pockets and she quickly pulled it out, hoping it wasn't too important because then she'd really have to chase down the racer. A quick glance at the single, ripped off piece of paper had her blinking in surprise as she read it.

_Callahan's Pub. Downtown LA. 1PM. Sundays. $300 ante. Tell them you know Han Lue._

"How the fuck did he even know?" she asked the empty air and returned her gaze back to where he had been, just in time to catch him getting into a bright yellow car with, as predicted, a blonde in barely there clothes. "Well, well, you are full of surprises Mr. Lue," she muttered in a bit of shock because she recognized that car. It had been at her mother's bar once every six months for the last two years when she held a quiet, high stakes, black jack game that she refused to let Trish participate in because it was, 'bad for business if they keep losing.'

Laughing a bit at the situation, refusing to be completely creeped out since her mother had pictures of her growing up all over the damn place in that bar and if someone was there enough they'd probably recognize her, Trish quickly got into her car and decided to head home. Tomorrow was Sunday and she had, hopefully, quite a few wallets to lighten and tuition and rent to be paid.

* * *

**A/N:** First meeting out of the way. I subscribe the the idea that our Han is the adult version of Han from Better Luck Tomorrow (if you _don't_ know - Sung Kang plays Han Lue in both BLT and the F&F series and Justin Lin directed both. Even though there is no 'official' connection it seems to be the fandom accepted truth). So at this point in the story he's only 20; therefore still cocky and very 'male'...if a _little_ older and a _little_ wiser from where he was as a senior in high school in BLT.

Reviews/Constructive Criticism very appreciated. Flames, not so much.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing and am making no money off the Fast & Furious franchise. It is owned by Universal Pictures and various other parties. See prologue for full disclaimer.

* * *

_December 1998_

The next month passed incredibly quickly for Trish. She was either in class, doing work for class, using what she was learning to slowly build a better computer then her own store bought PC or at work at the coffee-shop.

Except for Sunday's. After finding that note in Han's hoodie Sunday had quickly become her favorite day of the week.

That first afternoon had been uncomfortably awkward; she showed up at the fairly empty bar and got the usual eye roll from the bartender. He had seemed ready to drag her out himself until she decided to take the note's advice and told him she knew Han Lue.

Apparently, her mysterious benefactor had some real pull because almost immediately the bartenders expression had changed. Instead of looking at her like he was waiting for the punchline to a bad joke after she simply asked about the 1pm game; he was eying her much more carefully.

She had dressed very carefully that first day; ripped jeans, a band t-shirt and a vintage blazer with a pair of cowboy boots. She knew she looked younger then she was; but she was trying as hard as possible to minimize the effect. Hopefully, if she looked less like she came out of one of the poorest towns in California and more like she was trying look 'trendy' and lose Daddy's money they would be more willing to let her play.

She really hadn't expected using Han's name to actually work. Because it certainly hadn't been her clothing choices that had gotten her whisked downstairs into the basement. Not when she had found herself sitting with a mix of men and, surprisingly, women who were an even mix between blue collar and Beverley Hills. She might have been the youngest there; but it apparently didn't matter so long as she knew someone the owner considered legitimate.

For whatever reason that was. She stopped caring when she went home with almost two thousand dollars that first Sunday.

Which is why four weeks later, almost to the day, that she had met him Trish was once again leaning against her car, smoking her own cigarette this time, behind a warehouse and watching the races. Only tonight she was looking for someone specific. She had a business proposition to make.

"Well, well, how long did it take you to cave?" a familiar voice asked from behind her, startling Trish out of her crowd watching.

"How the hell do you do that?!" she asked him, turning around to face Han who was standing behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets and smirking.

"Do what?"

"Never mind," she mumbled and tossed the cigarette away. "I decided I was too stressed with school to quit at the moment."

"Oh, right. So you _chose_ to keep smoking? Did that give you _control_?"

"Don't you mock me," Trish replied, glaring lightly. "Being in control of whatever situation you are in is the best way to keep life as smooth as possible."

"You can not possibly think you're going to control everything in your life."

"I'm certainly going to try. And I'm not discussing this right now; but I was looking for you. You ninja assassin."

"Racist," he responded, smirking again.

"Stop popping up out of nowhere then! And stop distracting me I'm sure you have skanks to go woo."

He chuckled and leaned against her car next to her and nodded, "Alright, you have my undivided attention. Now, what did you need? I figured I gave you what you were looking for last week and I'd never see you again."

"You did; and you knowing my pastimes is something else we're going to have to discuss by the way. But for now, I have a business proposition for you, you creeper."

"Nothing creepy about it. I played cards at your Mom's big game a few times. Your face was everywhere in that bar. Also, I knew Salvas for a few years so I knew he had a little white girl who followed him around and liked to cheat people out of their money at cards. Not hard to put two and two together. Speaking of them both, I heard about what happened. Sorry 'bout that."

"Asshole drunk who hit her got three to five for manslaughter," she told him, shrugging. "Not much else I can do about it. And that idiot kid who hit Jose is in a wheelchair for the rest of his life; so that's it's own punishment," she continued and then paused looking thoughtfully at him. "You really knew Jose?"

"Barstow _is_ only about two hours from here. The underground racing scene isn't exactly a huge community if you only take into account the real racers. He used to come down to race every once in a while...among _other_ things," he explained, giving her a very pointed look.

Trish nodded as Han's explanation began to make more sense in her mind. He hadn't exactly paid off a house; but he had done his own version of taking care of someone Jose had left behind. And she had wondered where he was dropping off the car parts; LA certainly made sense.

"Well, that makes me feel a little better about what I had to speak to you about," she continued after a few seconds of thought. "First of all, here," she added handing him her license.

"Your license?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not. Jailbait," she clarified. "Eighteen. Proof."

"I'm still not going to fuck you if that's what this is about," he responded looking confused from her to the license, though she noted with amusement that he did seem to double check her birth date and glance her up and down at least once.

"That wasn't an invitation. I was just pretty sure you didn't believe me about my age."

"Honestly, I didn't," he admitted to Trish before handing the card back. "Jose didn't exactly talk about you much. If anyone asked they got shut down quick. But at least _this_ way I know I'm not contributing to the delinquency of a minor," he added and she had to bite back a laugh when he proceeded to hand her a cigarette before lighting his own.

"Thanks," she replied in a dry tone, shaking her head but lighting the cigarette anyway.

"So was it just the license thing? Cause I'm supposed to race tonight. Soon actually."

"No," she quickly responded and fished around in her bag, not wanting to keep him waiting. "Here," Trish said and handed him a sealed, obviously stuffed, envelope.

Han glanced at her curiously taking the envelope cautiously before carefully ripping it open. Then she did laugh as he froze and stared at the contents with an almost dumbfounded expression, "Huh?"

"Finder's fee," she explained, correctly judging the source of his confusion. "Ten percent from the last months take," Trish elaborated and watched him silently count the bills contained in the envelope.

"There's a grand here," he stated after he counted a second time.

"Yup," she replied, nodding and grinning in excitement.

"A thousand dollars? Ten percent?"

"Yes. What about this are you not understanding?"

"You made ten thousand dollars in four poker games?" he asked her, physically turning his body and then hers to stare her directly in the eyes. "Seriously?"

"Just about. I rounded up this time. I actually made nine-thousand eight-hundred and fifty-seven dollars."

"Holy shit," Han whispered. "Salvas wasn't kidding," he mumbled the last part under his breath and looked back up to see Trish grinning brightly at him. A grin he quickly returned. "You said something about a business proposition?"

"I figured showing you the money first would bring you around quicker," she joked. "Okay, so you obviously know people in LA. I do not. You're holding proof in your hand that I can make decent money playing cards. I need you to get me into a higher stakes game preferably with trashier players who are more willing to throw away money."

Han frowned as she talked and shook his head, "No."

"No? What do you mean no? Is 10 percent not enough? I'll go up to fifteen."

He laughed, almost darkly, and shook his head, "It's not the percentage. It's the situation. The types of games you're talking about aren't the kind of places you should be going."

Trish raised an eyebrow and then narrowed her eyes as she fully processed what he meant, "I have an older brother thank you. He's an asshole but he does exist. I don't need someone to protect me."

"Obviously you do," he shot back. "If you think I'm just going to set you up to go into the kind of games you're talking about so I can get another grand you've got to be joking. The kind of people you're talking about will shoot you without thinking twice about it if they realize you're counting cards. I might not know you very well, but I could do without your blood on my damned hands."

Trish growled under her breath, dismissing his concerns and trying to get around them by thinking quickly. She finally nodded and gave him a counter-offer, "Okay, how about a compromise? I'll work my way up to those kind of games. I'll build a bit of a name for myself first. Get _myself_ invited. Then it isn't on you."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head looking slightly frustrated. "The second you start winning like _this_," he explained, waving the money in her face. "Those guys will know something is up."

"I don't win all the time Han; I'm not stupid," she told him. "I make sure to lose just often enough, even on the big pots, so it doesn't look suspicious."

"We'll agree to disagree on your intelligence at the moment. Anyway, what's wrong with just going back to Danny's?"

"Danny? Oh, the owner on Callahan's."

"Yea. It's a nice game. I've played myself a few times. No one goes _armed_. No one gets pissy when they lose money," he prodded, poking her shoulder, causing her to poke him back and then jump out of the way when he went to retaliate.

"I feel bad," she finally mumbled and blushed when he laughed. "Don't laugh at me over it. Even the really wealthy players are all nice people. I tried to mostly beat them. I never do that. Hell, I never feel bad about that shit."

Han blinked at that and looked at her again, "Maybe I was wrong. You're not a racist. You're a sociopath."

"Jesus H Christ on a cracker. I'm not a racist or a sociopath. Stop even joking about that. That could get me shot _here_. When I said I don't feel bad; I mean, I don't feel bad about things like counting cards and taking people's money. They're obviously going to throw it away playing the game anyway. So why shouldn't it go to me rather then some other schmuck?"

"Still."

"Oh please! Like you've never done anything even a tiny bit morally questionable in you're entire life?" she asked incredulously and was a little surprised when Han's relaxed expression immediately shut down and become closed off.

"You're right. Who am I to judge?" he asked, a cold tone seeping into his normally smooth voice. "I'll find you another game; but I'm _not_ going to be getting you into any of ones run through the clubs or gangs."

"Alright," she agreed, sensing that arguing _now_ would be a very bad idea. She'd talk him into it eventually.

"Give me your phone," he added, still in that clipped voice. She immediately handed it over and watched as he programmed his number in and then called his own phone with hers. "Now go home."

"What?"

"Go. Home," he repeated, pointing away from the warehouse. "We can not be seen together right now, not if we want this to work. You'll probably wind up playing some of the people here eventually. Also, the crew I'm with isn't exactly welcoming new faces with open arms at the moment."

She nodded quickly and exhaled as he ran a hand through his hair, aggravation seeming to sit right under the surface of his stoic expression.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to piss you off. Especially when you've got to race."

He finally sighed and shook his head, pushing off the car, "You didn't. It's not _your_ fault. Just, shit, let's just say you were very correct and leave it at that okay?"

"Yea, alright," she agreed, nodding again and walking around to the drivers side of her car, watching while he rolled the bills she gave him and stuck a rubber band around them. "Umm, did you want your hoodie back?"

"Keep it," he replied, walking away without looking back.

She was starting to think that Jose's mismatched overprotective behavior, sheltering her from the actual underground world he lived in - all the while still letting her help him steal cars, had caused her to miss some developmental step that had just caused her to put her foot in her mouth. She ran the end of their conversation back through her head again and winced as she realized he had been absolutely fine until she made the crack about morally questionable actions.

"Well shit," she muttered, getting into her car and starting it. "I didn't mean it as a bad thing," she added as she flipped the radio on and hit the start button her her disc-man so the sounds of Metallica could drown her thoughts out on the way home. 'Cause if Han knew Jose, then he knew what Trish had been involved in; so what could he have done that was possibly so bad that he would have shut down like that at even the implication of it being brought up?

* * *

**AN:** Bit of a shorter chapter this time. I tend to write in a way that you get a 'fade to black' feel whenever something important happens.

Now we're starting to get into the development of their friendship. Plot will begin moving a bit quicker soon, just need to establish a bit more of their background.

What does everyone think of Trish? She's a bit naive and too used to being the 'most intelligent person' around, and unfortunately doesn't see that about herself yet. Believe me, I understand how that could be annoying.  
As we see more of her you'll begin (hopefully) to understand why she's so convinced she has this 'control' over her life and why she needs it. She won't be such a stickler forever...but keep in mind, she's 18, just about 19 now, and on her own for the first time. She's gotta grow up a little bit and have her eyes opened to what's really out there.  
Do you want to see Han's POV at all? Anyone curious as to why Han shut down so suddenly? Cookies for anyone who guesses correctly.  
We'll be seeing Brian quite soon too. Should be an interesting reunion for the siblings.

Reviews and constructive criticism are awesome. Flames are not and will be used to roast marshmallows.


End file.
